


imagine being loved by me

by sesquipedalianMarquis



Series: Skyrim Smutfics [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkward and Wholesome, Barbed Penis, Biting, Bloodplay, Claws, Communication, Cowgirl Position, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Curiosity, Daedra (Elder Scrolls), Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Furry, Hair-pulling, Khajiit (Elder Scrolls), Minor Sheath-Play, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Porn, Rough Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Vaginal Sex, Wrestling, cross-species, predator kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesquipedalianMarquis/pseuds/sesquipedalianMarquis
Summary: Do you want to read khajiit smut? You're in the right place. I wrote about a big catman fucking a very enthusiastic daedra-woman. Come in and get your 8k words of barbed cat dick porn for free!
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, S'Rhook/Zari
Series: Skyrim Smutfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936300
Kudos: 12





	imagine being loved by me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hozier's "Talk"
> 
> Setup: S'Rhook (a big buff khajiit dude) and Zari (a big buff Auroran daedra lady, stuck on Nirn because of magic shenanigans) defeated an evil vampire orc chieftain. The rest of the party did not want to stay in the dead chieftain's hut, so it's just S'Rhook and Zari. She challenges him to see who is the better fighter out of the two and they wrestle, he gets her pinned and then lets up again when she grabs his hand...

“This one is not a mind reader, Zari,” says S’Rhook, holding firm against her grip with no small effort. It really is like arm-wrestling without a table. “You have to use your words.”  
And then Zari leans up on tip-toes, hooks her free hand around his neck and drags him into a kiss, and well, that’s pretty telling even without words.

Being a Khajiit, kissing never came naturally to S’Rhook. With a face structure so radically different from men and mer, the only ones less suited to kissing than Khajiit would be Argonians. But S’Rhook has travelled far and wide for ages now and just because something doesn’t come easy doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. And knowing how to kiss is worth the learning curve.

So he leans into the kiss with decades of practice, slides a hand around the back of her neck and goes as tender as he knows how, because she might be into the rough angle, but that’s non-negotiably something she’s gonna have to use her words for.

Divines, but she’s enthusiastic about it, practically devouring his mouth. S’Rhook almost shudders with how ferocious it feels when she licks up one of his frankly massive canines and sighs into it. She lets go with the hand that was clasping his and grips a generous handful of his shirt and chest fur instead, maybe so he won’t stop, maybe to ground herself. That’s okay. That’s real good. He runs his now-free hand through her hair.

In sparring and in battle, Zari’s fucking immovable. But here, now, S’Rhook can, with very little effort, guide her steps backwards until she hits the wall. It’s a world of difference to the fight she put up while wrestling; now she just goes, gasps when S’Rhook crowds her against the wall, twists the hand on his neck in his regrowing mane and tugs.

He does, eventually, need to breathe, pulls back just enough for them to lock eyes as they pant. Her pupils are blown wide and her scent is off the walls with the excitement of a good fight and maybe more. It’s intoxicating.

“Is this good? You like it?” he asks, has to make sure — Zari’s not a child, she’s a centuries-old daedra, but still, she’s only been mortal for so short a time.

“Kiss me again,” she demands, voice rough, and who is he to refuse such a request? They go back to making out, the pace growing feverish, S’Rhooks attempts at tenderness thrown to the wind under Zari’s grabby hands in his fur and his clothes.

He’s careful as anything when he unsheathes the claws in the hand on the back of her neck, fingers tucked against his palm. But he’s right on the money with it. When he drags the blunt back of the claws against her skin, just the non-sharp bits, she groans against him and the grip on his mane goes painful tight, but she’s not dragging him away, she’s pulling closer, leaning into it with all she’s got, licking into his maw with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s trying to work with being absolutely, ridiculously horny in a mortal body.

Well, S’Rhook likes to help. He drags the backs of his claws — shimmering, razor-sharp, so, so careful — down her back to between her shoulder blades, to that spot her armour leaves uncovered so she can unfurl her wings. He traces odd little patterns there, his claws smooth against her skin, the possibility of the pinpoint tips clear as day. The gesture makes Zari downright tremble against him, a weak-kneed kind of shudder. He breaks the kiss again, but there’s not much more than a hand’s breadth of space between them.

“Words, J’Zari. What do you want? Khajiit is happy to make out with you for a while. But you have to ask for more.”

“More,” she echoes, insistently, and surges up for another kiss, but S’Rhook turns his head away, which ends with her kind of mashing her face against his cheek.

“Hey! I said more,” she insists, butts her forehead against his cheekbone and tugs at his shirt.

“J’Zari, this one needs more words than that. You haven’t been mortal for very long, we need to talk about this.” He traces a thumb over her cheek, along her jawline. It’s magnificent. “This one is very on board with more, but how far do you want this to go? Do you know?”

There’s an almost petulant silence for a few heartbeats — a lot of heartbeats with how wound up they are, pulse racing. Her eyes are full of fire, but her expression’s frustrated.

“Why can’t this just be easy?” she demands, fists her other hand in his shirt too.

“Things become easy with practice, and this is all new for you,” S’Rhook returns philosophically. And, because he is only so self-controlled, he steals another kiss, short but heated. Zari, subconsciously, licks her lips when she pulls back and a flush runs through S’Rhook. “It will be easier. Humour me, for now. Do you know what you want from me? From this?”

She seems to steel herself with a short exhale, the same determined frown on her face as when she set herself her redemption quest.  
“It’s more than… want. It’s like hunger. In the Coloured Rooms, this kind of thing is… a distraction, an indulgence, but nothing I need. Now I’m here and I want. I’m wanting. I’ve been wanting and distracted for days.”

He can work with that. S’Rhook lets go of her, places his hands on hers where they’re still gripping his shirt.  
“That’s alright. Wanting things happens a lot to mortals. You said you don’t know much about Khajiit and being mortal is also new to you. Will you sit with S’Rhook and explore until you’re satisfied?”

“Yes.” Zari, with a most determined expression on her face, starts pushing against his chest. S’Rhook lets her walk him to the bed with a smile on his face – he’s always liked bedding people who are forward about their wants. And while Zari could use some help in figuring out what mortal bodies need, she’s certainly forward enough. To have all that pinpoint focus on him is exhilarating.

S’Rhook sits on the bed heavily and there’s a lull in the action where Zari stands in front of him and frowns down at him, a frown he’s quickly learning to interpret as the ‘what now’ one, not the unhappy one. He hooks his hands behind her thighs and tugs, and she goes with it until he has a very solid lapful of Daedra-woman.

“What next?” she asks, grabs his shirt again.

“More kissing, if you want. This one enjoys it. Or S’Rhook could show you a neat thing about Khajiit hands!” He settles one hand on her waist and gives a friendly wave with the other.

“A neat thing?” She squints at him.

“Very neat!” He takes one of her hands in his, places her fingers against the joints of his index. “There, now squeeze.”

She does, none too gently, and the flex of the digit unsheathes S’Rhook’s claw. It shimmers in the low light of the chieftain’s longhouse, a solid razor curve. Zari gasps quietly and relaxes her hand, watches the claw sheathe back into place, then flexes it out again.  
“I thought you had to do... the claws thing on purpose,” she murmurs, tries on another finger. There’s an intrigued glitter in her eyes.

“No! We can, but they just do that if pushed right. It’s more impressive on some other furstocks. Though this one is sure none have claws quite as shiny.”

“And the blue fur?” She traces a finger over the rougher pads of his fingertips, his palms. It’s not quite a tickle, but the intensity of her scrutiny has him wanting to squirm.

“Also not the standard. S’Rhook’s ancestors have seen it fit to bless him. It was grey before, like the rest.” He watches her squeeze out his claws again and tap her fingernail against the side of it, as if testing its texture. Seemingly satisfied, she tests the way his wrist flexes, cards her fingers through the fur on his lower arm. He catches a glance she shoots him from under her lashes, a quick, testing thing.

“Go on,” he prompts, his voice a reassuring rumble. “This one said you can explore. What is it you’re curious about? Khajiit will satisfy.”

Zari lets go of his wrist and raises her hands to his face. S’Rhook lets her poke at his whiskers and flexes his ears — she gets an interested sparkle in her eye when he swivels them around and very carefully runs a finger over the abundance of piercings.

He’s about to break the silence with some chit-chat about where he got them or how inconvenient metal is under the desert sun when she frames his face with her palms, places her thumbs on his muzzle and pushes his upper lips up to the gums. Well then. After a second to process his bafflement, S’Rhook opens his jaw a little, peels his lips back from his teeth and lets her have a look.

That interested spark is back in her eye as Zari inspects his teeth and S’Rhook has never been so glad he keeps up with keeping them clean. There’s something fundamentally weird about just being scrutinised like this, but… it’s kinda hot. She rubs across one of his big fangs with the pad of her thumb and he can’t quite resist the urge to dart his tongue out and kitten-lick at the digit.

She looks surprised, like she’s waiting for a protest or another hint, so S’Rhook lets a content purr rumble through his chest. He’s surprised when she furrows her brow again.

“That sound... It’s a good sound, right?”

Of course she wouldn’t know. S’Rhook feels a little stupid.  
“Yes,” he says, once her finger is out of his mouth. “Most Khajiit can produce this sound. It means good, safe, trusting. Hurt, sometimes, but in need of comfort, like when Eliya was injured, but S’Rhook promises that is not an issue here. It means this one is enjoying.”

“Oh. Good.” The frown smoothes out. “Your teeth are... very sharp.” There’s a bit of heat in her voice.

“Very,” S’Rhook agrees. And from the interest, from her reaction while wrestling... “This one’s fangs are made to rend flesh. The back of Khajiit’s tongue has spikes to tear flesh off the bone. This one may be a cook, but if needed, Khajiit could survive off just raw game.”

“Show me,” she says, voice deeper. Bull’s eye. S’Rhook opens his maw wide, sticks his tongue out and flexes it down so the barbs towards the back stick up. Zari, with a very sensibly light touch, first traces the jagged shapes of his molars, then runs a fingertip over his tongue and marvels at the rasp. “It wasn’t this rough when you licked my thumb,” she points out.

S’Rhook puts his tongue back in his mouth.  
“That’s because this one is very much trying not to strip the meat off your bones. This one has experience and self-control, especially around people who are not Khajiit. It doesn’t hurt on the tongue-tip.” He tilts his head to the side, rests his cheek against her hand, and she runs her fingers through the thick fur on the side of his head. He nuzzles against her wrist.

“You are strange creatures,” she murmurs, then her touch turns into a grip. “You like it when I grab your fur?”

“Yes.” S’Rhook rests both hands on her waist, heavy. “You like the fight. You liked it when this one pinned you down?”

Zari’s look turns heated again and she nods, drags her fingernails against his skin.  
“You should– you should do that again.”

“Khajiit will follow your direction.” S’Rhook grins at her. And then they fall back on the bed and wrestle.

It’s still S’Rhook’s advantage, being used to fighting without the defense of armour or a shield. The only hold Zari gets is the fact she can grab him by the fur and she does put up a decent struggle, but S’Rhook makes up for it – it takes more than a yank on his fur to fuck him over. A heated tussle across the bed —with both of them nearly falling off— later, S’Rhook has her pinned to the mattress, her right arm twisted up behind her back, his weight on her legs. She taps out, palm flat against the mattress.

He takes her wrist and pins her free hand too, stretched above her; leans in and speaks, voice low.  
“Is this what you wanted?”

Zari tests his hold again, flexes against him. Her core is strong, all of her is fucking ripped, so the effort is valiant. But she’s not trying to break out, not wiggling or curling up, just... pushing against him, feeling the weight. Like she likes the sensation. He puts more weight on her wrist.

“Yes.” Her face is turned, cheek against the mattress. Her hair is all over the place, but he can see her bite her lip, shut her eyes on a heavy exhale. They’re both breathing heavy with the exertion, but there’s a shudder to hers.

S’Rhook noses her hair out of the way, nuzzles against her neck. Her hands clench into fists when he opens his mouth just a little, lets his fangs press against her skin.  
“Good?”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she demands, breathless — for a plethora of reasons now, he assumes, not in the least because he’s pretty damn heavy.

A heavy purr rumbles through his chest and he nips gently at the delicate skin of her neck. He’s oh so careful not to break any skin, but he’s not certain Zari would complain even if he did. Still, no blood. She still gasps beautifully for him when he figures out her sensitive spots. The rasp of his rough tongue over the patch just under her ear has her shuddering hard and gritting her teeth on a sound that even charitably can only be called a whimper. She flushes a deep red and S’Rhook checks in again.

“Still good?”

“That’s, ah. A lot. I didn’t mean to make that sound.”

“Mhm. S’Rhook has a few things that have him sounding like that, too. No judgement.” He kisses over the same spot, feels her tremble a little under him. “Nothing wrong with making noise. This one needs to know when things are right or wrong. So, still good?”

“Yes. Good. Do it again,” she demands, tilts her head far to allow him access.

“One more thing. J’Zari, do you mind people knowing? This one can leave no marks, but if you like the biting, there may be some.”

“What do I care?”

Fair enough. S’Rhook repeats the gesture that had her shuddering. She squirms into the mattress with another soft sound, and Moons, he could live off that noise alone. He nips at her ear, nibbles down her neck, bites her shoulder while Zari flushes and gasps and presses into him as much as she can – quite a lot, now; he’s not very focused on holding her down. He lets go of the arm he had twisted against her back and she grabs the sheet, melts into his touch. He wants to see her wrecked with it.

“Mm. This one loves how you react,” S’Rhook murmurs, cards a hand through her hair. “You wanna keep fooling around until you tire of it?”

“What’s the other option?” she prompts and meets his eye, gaze heavy, and Divines, every time she looks at him like that he feels like he might burst into flames on the spot.

“Getting more intimate. This one would be happy to go down on you, for one.”

“You should fuck me,” Zari tells him, just straight out says it, and S’Rhook needs to take a moment to get his brain and blood back into his skull.

“What S’Rhook meant,” he clarifies once he can form a coherent thought, “is that he would very much like to go down on you, with your permission. We can definitely fuck, though. Absolutely.” She’s not helping him think very clearly either, pressing her hips back. Their position doesn’t quite let her grind on him, but the suggestion is there and that’s enough for his higher brain functions to go out the window.

“You better let me turn over then.” Zari throws him another devastating over-the-shoulder look and S’Rhook scrambles to let her up.

“Just a second, this one needs to fetch something.” He jumps up and scurries over to his pack.

“What are you looking for at a time like this?” Zari asks, voice muffled by what he assumes from the rustling to be her shirt going over her head.

“Gloves! Just a second, they’re somewhere in here.” He shuffles through his pack. They’ve probably gotten wedged somewhere way under the cooking supplies. The forks clatter.

“Gloves? I’m not scared of your claws.” She sounds offended at the mere notion that she could be scared of anything. Did they get wedged under the spice jars?

“No, not the claws— Ha! Got them. This one wears gloves because of the furry hands. Otherwise you might end up with blue fur in weird places.” S’Rhook pulls on the gloves – a nice, custom-made pair that goes up to his elbows. There’s movement behind him, footsteps, but other than his ears turning to track the sound he doesn’t show he’s noticed. When he stands, Zari steps up behind him. He doesn’t quite turn yet, just curls his tail around her calf.

“Couldn’t wait?”

“Didn’t want to,” she says, and when he does turn, she pulls him down into another messy kiss. She’s greedy about it, hands firm in the shaggy fur on the back of his head, all demanding. S’Rhook wants to give her everything she wants. He purrs for her and she makes a pleased noise back, hauls him against her chest-to-chest.

S’Rhook runs his hands down her back, from up where her wings burst out down to her ass. Her armour doesn’t show it, and what a shame that is, he thinks as he digs his hands into the sculpted muscle. She’s just in undergarments now and he wants to pull them off her with his teeth. Soon. When she’s done devouring his mouth like a woman starved. He bites at her bottom lip and the sound Zari makes can only be described as a growl. He pulls at her hips, presses a thigh between hers and feels his heart skip a beat when she groans approval and rocks into him. The flex of her glutes is incredible. He never wants to take his hands off her again.

“Okay,” she says, hardly bothering to pull away from the kiss. “You have your gloves. Anything else you need or can we get this going?”

“All here. Let’s get going. Hang on, J’Zari!” S’Rhook widens his stance, grabs the back of her thighs and lifts. Luckily, Zari’s a smart one and catches on. It’s not easy, lifting her, seeing as she’s strong as hell and not a small human either, but he manages, and Zari seems rather pleased with being picked up and carried the few feet to the bed. He tries to toss her on the mattress, but Zari refuses to let go — S’Rhook overbalances and they tumble on the bed together heads over tail.

It’s only a matter of a few seconds to sort out their errant limbs and they slot together like a dream, S’Rhook nipping at Zari’s neck again, Zari hooking a calf around his leg and pulling him in for a grind. Her hands rack up his shirt to his armpits and flatten against his back, card through the fur.

“You have so much gods-damn fur,” she says, fingers digging into his back, “I keep thinking you can’t be that big under all of it, but you’re damn thick. There’s so much of you, bite me harder!”

Who is S’Rhook to do anything but comply? He leaves a dark love-bite high where her neck joins her jaw, rocks his hips into hers. It’s all he can do not to unsheathe right then and there. He noses down her neck, kisses his way down her chest—Zari squirms at the tickle of his fur, squirms harder when he rasps his tongue over her nipple. She grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it off him, then fists a hand in his regrowing mane and pushes him down.

S’Rhook goes happily, trails kisses over her stomach. He brings his hand flat over her and she rocks into it. Moons, she’s soaked through her garments. That’s so hot. He looks up at her and she’s staring down, her bright eyes intense, her legs wide.

“You’re so wet already, this one can tell even with your undergarments on,” S’Rhook tells her and drags his teeth over the ridge of her hip. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

“Then don’t,” she replies, her voice gravelly and her hand firmer in his hair, and yeah, that’s a fair point. He can’t actually drag the underwear off her with his teeth, not with her legs wide to accommodate his significant bulk between her thighs, but he does pull it off her. It lands… somewhere, does not matter. Probably floor. What matters is that Zari is here, very naked, and spreading her legs again.

“Don’t make me wait.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” S’Rhook rests his weight on one arm and spreads the folds of her cunt with the other. She smells like arousal and it makes his mouth water. He ducks his head and licks flat across her and she tastes just the way she smells and he wants to drown in her. She twitches at the contact, twists a hand in his hair again—nice. He teases over her clit with the the soft tip of his tongue and his fingers and Zari sighs and shifts under him while he figures out what gets to her the most.

The curls of her hair tickle his nose and he’s definitely going to have some between his fangs before the end of it, but that’s fine. Everything is fine. The prophecy could come true and Coldharbour could crash into the Ashlands outside and S’Rhook could not care less. He encourages one of her thighs, solid and packed with muscle, over his shoulder, and as soon as he does she digs her heel into his back to encourage him closer. He rolls his tongue over her clit again until her hips jump, runs a finger over her entrance. The gloves steal most of the sensation, but she’s so wet he can still tell. Life is good.

“In me,” Zari says. “Fingers. Put fingers in me.” He looks up to meet her eyes and she’s still staring down at him, lips apart, cheeks flushed. She’s toying with one of her breasts with her free hand and for a second he’s so entranced by the sight of her his thoughts just fly out the window again. A firm tug on his hair brings him back, though.

“Anything you want.” She could ask the world of him and he would do his best. It’s too much to hold her gaze, he just lets his eyes slide closed as he tongues over her clit again. She’s relaxed and loose for him, hums in approval when he slides a finger into her. He matches the noise with a deep-chested purr of his own.

It’s easy to sink into a rhythm. He fingers her slow and luxurious, figures out just how to crook his fingers to make her tilt her hips for more, and licks steady circles around her clit. He’s lost in the taste and the smell and the feel of her. The Dwemer could return and he’d tell them to get fucked and come back later when he’s not busy with Zari’s hand in his hair pulling him close, a quiet insistence to keep it the fuck up. He does until her thighs tremble.

Zari’s pretty quiet for most of it, but it’s easy to tell when he’s doing good. Her exhales get heavy and her grip on his mane tight. She may not be vocal, but she’s responsive, rocking into him more the closer he gets her. When she moans for him, a wanting, almost desperate sound, it goes straight to his dick. He’s so hard he could cut rock, but the tent in his trousers can wait its damn turn.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Zari gasps, grabs his head with both her hands and S’Rhook doesn’t answer, can’t answer, since he’d have to stop to do it. He just digs his free hand into her thigh and lets her ride his face for all it’s worth until she shakes apart under him, wet and messy and fucking beautiful. He keeps going, nuzzling at her clit until she twitches away in overstimulation, feeling the aftershocks of it making her clench and tremble. Then he grins up at her and licks his damp muzzle.

“You taste good.”

Zari doesn’t say anything, just breathes heavy and lets go of his hair. She looks down when he pulls his fingers out of her and laps the slick off them in long, showy pulls of his tongue. That spark dances in her eyes again.

“Hmm. A treat.” He ducks his head to nip along the inside of her thigh, leaves a few flushed bite-marks.

“You’re really into that, huh?”

“This one enjoys giving pleasure.” S’Rhook kisses her thigh, cracks his neck and sits back on his haunches to stretch out his shoulders. Zari’s eyes track the flex of his movement, and then just go straight down.

“Take off your breeches,” she orders and pushes herself up on her elbows.

“Your wish is my command, J’Zari,” S’Rhook agrees easily and strips off his trousers. He tosses them… somewhere, off the bed. They probably don’t land in the fire. Hopefully. He’ll find them later. He kneels on the mattress again and looks over to Zari, who has sat up too. She’s magnificent, still a bit flushed and so fucking strong. Her legs and core are incredible. If they got her a strap-on, she’d—

“Nice,” says Zari, interrupting his train of thought. Her heavy, appreciative gaze makes him feel overheated and twitchy. “Can I, ah…” She’s leaning forward a little, trying to look him in the face and kind of failing not to look at his dick.

“Yeah,” he nods before she can find whatever words she’s looking for to finish her sentence, “yeah, you can.” Whatever Zari wants is okay if it involves her looking at him with that inquisitive hunger in her eyes. He spreads his knees a little more.

And a significant amount more when Zari puts her hands on his thighs and makes some space for herself. She’s not built like a barrel like he is, but she’s certainly not small—Meridia’s perfectly sculpted, lean, mean undead-killing machine. What a woman. She leans in and kisses him, and Moons, she’s got to be tasting herself in his mouth, and it’s all S’Rhook can do to wrap his hands around her waist and melt into it until she pulls away and he’s left staring at her dumbly while she lies down on her stomach in front of him.

Until she’s face height with his dick. Azurah have mercy. Giving her head got him hard enough he’s fully unsheathed. Zari doesn’t touch him right away, just looks at him, and intellectually, of course he knows she’s never seen a khajiit dick up close (or at all, probably), but it’s certainly making him feel some type of way. Some good type of way. The kind of way where he has to swallow hard and his dick kind of twitches enthusiastically. It’s just really hot, okay?

“Are those… barbs?” Zari asks, running a hand up his thigh. Straying closer to his groin, but not quite getting there. She doesn’t mention the visible twitch. S’Rhook digs his fingers into the outside of his thighs, just for something to hang on to.

“Yes,” he says, and it’s all he can do to form coherent sentences. She’s just kind of observing and his brain is leaking out of his ears. He wonders if she’d let him come on her face. “Yes. They are… not as spiky as they look. Most khajiit have them. Except the ones that look closest to mer.”

Her hand quests closer. She darts a questioning look up at S’Rhook and he gives a quick, maybe overenthusiastic nod. She wraps her fingers around the base of his dick and he trembles in something like relief. 

“They are softer than they look,” she confirms, traces the tip of her finger over them. It’s a dreadful tease, all light and exploratory. S’Rhook breathes out as shaky and full of energy as a charged-up spell. She wraps her hand around him proper, getting a feel of him. Her hand is sword-callused and dry, but even so the touch is a relief. He holds still, but there’s nothing he can do about the pre beading at the tip of his dick.

She perks up with curiosity and seems to ponder for a second before she leans in and licks it off. S’Rhook hisses at the contact and she can probably feel him shudder even if she doesn’t see it. She traces a finger around where his dick sheathes when he’s soft, exploring the skin. It’s a weird sensation when she dips a curious fingertip into the skin fold, nervy and distracting. Most khajiit dudes he’s fucked tend to have a hands-off policy, but he’s not one of them. He just keeps his legs open and his thoughts—oh, who is he kidding, he’s definitely wondering whether he could come just from Zari messing with his sheath.

“You like that?” asks Zari. And then, despite the fact she clearly expects him to respond, she runs a light touch along the underside of his dick, tip to base and repeat, which is just unfair. He briefly considers begging for her to put her mouth on him again. She looks to the side for a second, briefly distracted by something—ah, it’s his tail, flicking with excitement.

“A lot,” is what he says instead. “Ah, J’Zari, it’s a dreadful tease. This one is… kinda into it. Are you enjoying?”

She smiles and gives him another slow lick, just her wet tongue across the tapered tip. S’Rhook moans and thanks Azurah he’s already kneeling, because his legs feel weak.

“Yeah. I’m enjoying. I was… curious, about khajiit, and I’m learning a lot.” She traces the skin around the base of his dick again, pushes it back a little and watches him bite his tongue and shudder. “Not sure if I’m learning about all khajiit or just you, but I’ll remember either way. Tastes kind of bitter, though.”

“It does. J’Zari, are you going to lie there and edge me until khajiit begs mercy?” She looks up with a flash of something like concern in her eyes and he quickly continues. “Not that this one minds! No, do not worry. This one is super into it. Just wants to know what your plan is, yes?”

Her features relax and she brushes her lips over his dick again, feathery-light, just to watch him twitch in her grip.  
“I said earlier. You should fuck me. I wanted to know what you’re packing.” She flashes him a grin, and despite the fact that he’s the one with a carnivore’s fangs, it’s predatory, hungry. She pushes herself up, sits on her heels in front of him. “Wrestle me again.”

Tempting. But…  
“Khajiit thinks that is a great way to get kneed in the dick on accident,” he admits, chagrined. “Any other time, this one would be happy to– oof!”

Zari puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him over. He goes without resistance (but with a yelp of surprise). Why would he bother to object when Zari moves to straddle his hips? She’s gorgeous over him, tall and bright and flushed and beautifully dishevelled.

“You lose,” she announces. He’d walk through fire for that smug little grin. His hands settle on her hips. Zari shifts into place, grinds against his dick and visibly decides she likes the sensation of it against her clit. She rocks her hips against him and hums in pleasure. S’Rhook answers with a rumbling purr. It’s a maddening sensation, having her so close and grinding on him like that; he flexes into it and marvels at the movement of her leg muscles.

She looks so satisfied grinding against him that S’Rhook thinks maybe that’s it and he’ll get to watch her take her pleasure like this, her pinpoint focus on what makes her feel good.

Before he can settle in to watch her shake apart again, Zari remembers she’s a woman on a mission. She raises herself up a little higher, guides the tapered tip of his dick against her cunt, and she’s so relaxed for it it takes hardly any pressure at all. She slides down, sopping wet and so gods-damn hot that S’Rhook finds himself clenching his fingers into the meat of her thighs. He’s probably making an embarrassing, soft kind of sound, but it’s not like he’s noticing much. His focus is taken up by the sensation of her and the face she’s making, a little ‘o’ of surprise.

“Oh, wow,” she says. Takes a deep sighing breath. “That… that feels… yeah.”

“Yeah,” S’Rhook agrees dumbly, unclenches his hands and instead caresses up and down her legs like someone who’s very collected and chill, totally.

She rocks her hips, a subdued swaying motion forwards and back, and makes another ‘oh’ sound. S’Rhook holds still with concerted power of will the likes of which have never been witnessed before.

“Meridia’s light, that’s intense,” murmurs Zari, rocks herself down harder. “The drag of it. Why does anyone fuck humans?”

“They don’t have sharp teeth. Better head,” S’Rhook suggests. He bends his knees for leverage, holds her hips and meets her next grind downwards, and there goes the conversation. Zari grunts like someone shoved the air from her lungs and plants her hands firmly on his chest (and now it’s S’Rhook who doesn’t have enough air in his, her hands are firm and appreciative on his pecs) and sets a pace.

She hardly bothers to rise up much, moves just enough to get the friction that does it for her, and S’Rhook is along for the ride. He moans, a soft, throaty sound, and grinds into her in that firm, insistent pace. Zari really wasn’t kidding when she said she’s wanting. The determination on her features is incredible, like the world outside them just fell away.

“Divines,” he says, drags her against him by the hips, “you feel amazing. Khajiit wasn’t sure you’d bring that, ah, that battlefield determination to the bedroom, but fuck, you do, it’s… ah, it’s devastating.”

“Yeah?” Zari leans over him. Her hair falls over her shoulders, curtaining their faces. “You like it?” The shift does something very distracting to her breasts, but it’s not as distracting as the way she rocks back onto him, fucks herself on his dick.

“Yeah,” he agrees, all breathless. “Yeah. Kiss me?”

She does and it’s brilliant. A little clumsy, now, with both of them rocking against each other all keyed-up; they clack teeth more than once, but it’s fine. She has her hands on either side of his head, he has both his hands on her (gorgeous, muscular) ass, feeling the flex of her rocking back against him. If Zari were any shorter, it’d be harder to kiss her, but she leans up and he leans in and it works like a filthy, open-mouthed charm.

When they split to catch their breath, Zari sits back, shakes the hair from her face. Her entire weight is on him and it’s the hottest gods-damn thing. He feels his dick throb in the hot clutch of her cunt.

“I wanna switch,” she announces.

“You want S’Rhook on top or you want to be the one fucking S’Rhook?”

“You on top, do the work for a bit,” she clarifies. “I don’t have a strap.”

“We could change that.”

“We could.” Her smile is a considering, appreciative thing that makes S’Rhook very optimistic for the future. She gets off him and lies back against the mattress, grabs a few pillows for comfort and S’Rhook crawls over her like he’s pulled in by gravity. She’s irresistible.

Zari yelps a surprised little sound when he ducks his head to tongue over her nipple again, moans when he repeats the motion. He goes to move on, but she grabs him by the mane and pulls him back, says “Again,” and who is he to argue?

He keeps it up, laves attention on her chest until she tires of it, grips him around the ribcage and hauls more than guides him bodily into position between her legs.

“Fuck me,” she says.

“This one loves to hear it,” he purrs and hikes one of her legs up, presses into her again. She’s wet and open as a dream, groans at the sensation. S’Rhook moves and she brings the leg he isn’t holding up around him, dragging him closer.

“Fuck me,” she says again and he does, grinds into her with his considerable weight behind it. Gods, but she feels good around him. He tries to get the angle right, the motion she was going for when she was riding him, pressing up and in with each thrust, and Zari moans for him.

“Deeper,” she demands, her heel insistent against the back of his thigh. S’Rhook shoves his hips against hers, but they’re flush, that’s all he can give her.

“Can’t,” he says mournfully. “Khajiit wants to give you what you want, but,” he hitches his hips against hers again, “that’s as deep as this one can get.”

Zari makes a discontent sound, squirms against him. “Fuck me harder then.”

“Maybe it’ll feel deeper if you flip over?” S’Rhook suggests. “Could be worth a try.”

She nods and they sort themselves out in a matter of seconds. Zari does almost kick him in the gut turning over onto her stomach, but shoots him an adequately remorseful look, and it’s not like he can be mad at her when she’s right there in front of him, down on her elbows, ass up, legs apart. If he wasn’t hard as rock already, yeah, that’d do it.

He gives himself a moment to feel the burn of anticipation, runs his hands worshipfully over the curve of Zari’s ass. Gives in to temptation, leans in and nips her glute, not quite firm enough to bruise. Zari twitches, surprised, and makes a noise of complaint—why isn’t he getting on with it and fucking her? Before she can get impatient enough to voice it, S’Rhook lines himself up and slides back into the hot clutch of her cunt, smooth as a dream. Zari makes a hungry, wanting sound when he does. There’s a tension in the line of her legs and back, a tinge of desperation.

She’s greedy and he loves it so much. S’Rhook wants to give her everything he can. He presses into her, deep as he can, as much as he can give. It drags another raw sound from Zari. He puts his weight behind it, snaps his hips against her firm and fast. She makes another noise, a quiet thing he can’t make out, so he drapes himself over her, chest against her back, nips at the broad line of her shoulders— she’s going “yes, yes, yes,” against the mattress. It makes him grin, muzzle against the line of her neck, listening to her breath hitch whenever he grinds into her just right.

One of her hands cards through the fur on top of his head. It’s not long enough to grab properly, but she catches it between her fingers, yanks him against her.

“Bite me,” she says. He nips at the sensitive spot just under her ear and she drags him down to her shoulder. “More,” she demands. He bites her again, the kind that’ll leave those soft pink marks that might even remain for a few hours. She growls and pulls his hair harder.

“Bite me like you fucking mean it, you fangsy bitch. Do it proper.”

S’Rhook stops rutting against her for a second, breathing heavy.  
“J’Zari, this one doesn’t want to seriously injure you. What if khajiit hits a tendon, or you bleed a lot?”

“I know restoration. I’ll close it up, no permanent harm done. Now, will you keep fucking me and put your teeth in me?” She wiggles her hips back against him, enticing him to move.

“Your wish is S’Rhook’s command.” He rocks into her again. The pace stokes his blood to a boil, deep as he can get and clearly doing things for her; it’s getting him there too, so slowly it’s agony, so close he can taste it. He sets his teeth against the meat of her shoulder, steels himself and bites down, past where he’d stop to avoid breaking skin. Under him, Zari shudders and moans, the sound almost a whimper; around him, she tenses up in a delightful shiver. The iron tang of blood fills his tongue, the scent his nose. Zari has a good people-smell, he could just bury his head in her hair and live happy, but now the sharp smell of blood is all his nose picks up.

“Again,” she demands, her voice rough, her hand on him rougher. He licks over the wound in her shoulder, laps up the rich flavour, sets his teeth in a different spot and bites her again. He stops before it’s too deep, doesn’t bury his canines all the way, and this time Zari actually whimpers. He can’t see her face, hidden by the mess of her hair, but she doesn’t let go of his fur, so he keeps fucking her in the same desperate grind, licks the blood off her shoulder before it can get messy.

She lets go of his fur, claps her hand over her shoulder and a white-gold glow shimmers out from her fingers, knits the flesh closed. He laps away the rest of the blood on her fresh, healer skin. The magic radiated out, half the love-bites he left on her neck are gone. S’Rhook is consumed by a hunger to put them back, to be able to see them in the morning. He gets to work on it, grinds into her with enough force to make the bedframe squeak and sucks red marks into the delicate skin of her neck and shoulder.

Zari moans, shameless as someone never raised as man or mer. She doesn’t grab his head again; instead, she reaches down her body and starts working her fingers against her clit in quick, determined motions. S’Rhook huffs a deep breath against her shoulder. It’s the hottest fucking thing. She’s loud and perfect under him, the sound of them fucking is obscene and he’s so gods-damn close his head swims. He wants to hold off, he really does, but willpower will only get him so far.

“J’Zari,” he gasps, nips her neck again, “this one is so close.” She shoves back against him, insistent, and he groans, presses his forehead against the back of her shoulder. “Not gonna last. Khajiit will make it up to you. Where do you want me to come?”

“All over me.” Zari flexes against him and for a second, he fervently hopes they’ll fuck again and he’ll get to come on her face.

He pushes himself up from where he’s draped over her, pulls out and strokes himself off. It takes maybe three beats before he’s coming so hard he sees white, stripes Zari’s perfect ass with come. The rush of sensation ebbs and that bone-deep satisfaction sets in. He’s vaguely aware of the guttural purr in his chest as he catches his breath—and Zari’s still pleasuring herself, hand quick between her legs.

“What a mess khajiit made,” says S’Rhook. “Let this one clean that up.”

“Do it,” Zari replies, and S’Rhook sits down, grabs her thighs and laps up the mess of his come. There’s a shake to Zari’s thighs, strained and desperate, but it’s a pretty bad position for her to jerk herself off. He draws back and she rolls over, looks up at him all flushed and messy. She’s gorgeous. He licks his muzzle, tastes her blood and his come and her slick. It’s almost enough for him to get it up again, but he’s just a mortal guy.

“S’Rhook is done for a while,” he admits regretfully. “But you aren’t. This one promised to make it up to you. Let me help.”

“I would even without,” Zari agrees. “But yeah, help out.” She spreads her legs, wide enough to fit his shoulders, a devastating sight—love-bites on her thighs, the folds of her shining with slick.

S’Rhook deliberates for a second.  
“Alright. Sit on my face?”

Zari frowns a little. “I don’t want to crush you.”

S’Rhook grins at her, stretches his legs out and makes a beckoning motion with both hands.  
“Do not worry. This one is more than capable of staying alive. And you can crush a little. Khajiit won’t mind. In fact, you’re encouraged to. Go on.”

She still looks a little doubtful, but she does move to straddle his head, and then she doesn’t sound doubtful in the slightest.

It doesn’t take long to get her there at all, not with how sensitive and keyed up Zari is. She’s enthusiastic and loud and so fucking wet. S’Rhook may never get the taste of her out of his muzzle, and even if he does, certainly not out of his mind. He eats her out with single-minded determination until she comes apart over him, thighs shaking and both hands around the back of his head, holding him in place. She grits out his name when she does, and a fervent ‘yes, yes,’ and he’ll carry that sound in his gods-damn bones forever. He takes her through it with slow, determined movements until she’s ridden out the aftershocks and gets off his face, slumps on the mattress next to him with her face pillowed on his thigh. S’Rhook licks his glove clean again. She tastes good.

“Whew,” says Zari.

“Yeah,” says S’Rhook.

“I learned some things about khajiit today.”

He grins.  
“This one is always glad to be of service.”

“We’re a mess.” Zari pushes her hair from her face, grimaces at the tangles.

“Yeah,” he agrees, content. He’s purring again. “There’s a washbasin over there. You can go first if you want.”

Zari deliberates, raises her head and then puts it right back down.  
“In a minute, maybe.”

S’Rhook’s purr kicks up a notch.  
“By the way, this one is a snuggler. If you mind, S’Rhook will sleep in a different bed.”

“You stay right the fuck here.”

“Absolutely.” He peels off his gloves and runs his fingers through her hair. She leans into the touch, a serene smile on her face. “And if you find yourself wanting again, or curious, S’Rhook is happy to indulge you, J’Zari. Just say the word.”

“What word?”

“Any that conveys you want to fuck will do, khajiit supposes,” he shrugs. “Or you grab this one for a kiss again.”

“Yeah,” she says and grins. “I’d say that was pretty successful.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me some kudos if you enjoyed?
> 
> Part 2, in which S'Rhook and Zari have more sex and make good on that suggestion of getting Zari a strap, is already written and just waiting to be uploaded!


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